Interview with a Bored Goddess: Venus

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where the streets are full of tree limbs and the temperature is halfway between scorching and blistering! I'm Anne Johnson, and yesterday I heard the three words that strike a chill into my soul: "Help Me Plan." So I called upon dear Goddess Venus to help me deal with the anxiety.

Please give a warm, wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Venus, the Goddess of Love!

Anne: Here, Your Greatness, try this pie that Mr. J just made. It's peach/blueberry!

Venus: Oh, this is delightful! Now, my good and (somewhat) vigilant follower, what is your concern?

Anne: First the back story. When Mr. J and I got married, I spent two days planning the wedding. Basically I booked a church and preacher, and a lunch at a restaurant. Then I invited 14 people. Started the ball rolling on Tuesday, said "I do" on Thursday.

Venus: Anne. Honestly. Why would you wed in such haste? Were you ?????

Anne: No! I JUST HATE TO PLAN EVENTS. In fact, the only thing I can think of that I'm less suited for than teaching is event planning.

Venus: Oh, I see where this is going. You lit the nicest candle for me on full moon ...

Anne: My daughter is getting married, and she loves a big do! First she wants an engagement party on this Labor Day weekend. Then she wants a wedding on the Chesapeake Bay same time next year.

Venus: You can hire people to take care of these things, you know.

Anne: No I can't! I'm not made of money. I'm not even made of bargaining chips. And this engagement party. She wants me to host it at my house.

Venus (perusing said house): Hmmm. Yep, starting to see your point. This is the moment when I bring up your deficiencies.

Anne (hiding her head): The deceased baby mouse on the altar.

Venus: Yes. The one that had been there so long it was dried out. The one that your daughter noticed, not you! And you have the nerve to petition Me to help you with magic, and now listen to your whining about being poor! I'm a Roman deity. I want my worshippers to be wealthy -- or at least observant enough to keep vermin off the altar!

Anne: Your Greatness, You can look around and see that this house, while not a showplace, is not filthy and crawling with mice! I have no idea how that little corpse got onto the altar. I'm absolutely sure Gamma Cat was involved -- he likes to chase mice up the stairs. But I can't imagine how that thing got onto my altar. Gamma couldn't have put it there himself. But I promise You, I am SO SO SO sorry! I am fully aware that you Greco-Roman deities are easily insulted. How about another slice of pie?

Venus: This pie is all that is saving you from being turned into a toadstool.

Anne: Which I richly deserve. But I did clean everything up and promise to do better!

Venus: That you did. And you'd better be serious, because another such gesture of disrespect will not be healed by pie, even this extremely excellent pie.

Anne: I'm confident that this won't happen again. I've worked myself into a lather wondering if it was an omen.

Venus: Not an omen. Just a sorry coincidence. Which I would forgive instantly if you hadn't ignored your altar for quite some time.

Anne: My altar will never be neglected again! As you know, I spend more time at the shrine in the back yard.

Venus: No excuses! Let's get back to your petition. Do you want me to teach you to be an event planner?

Anne: Can you turn me into a toadstool instead? Large parties give me hives. I don't know why. 

Venus: All right, I will do the whole thing for you with a flick of My shapely wrist! All you have to do is stand up at the wedding and proclaim Me the Creator of the Nuptials and the Best Goddess in the World. Before the couple says "I do."

Anne: A red toadstool with white spots?

Venus: I don't get credit, I don't do the work. Ask anyone.

Anne: I really didn't mean to ask You to do this -- although I bet You could do one bang-up job of it. I just want some celestial advice.

Venus: Here's some real world advice: Pay for professionals. Stop whining about the cost. That's what credit cards are for. I mean, it's not like I see you taking a pilgrimage to Rome or anything.

Anne: Because I don't have any money!

Venus: Here's an idea. Throw a bake sale. Get Mr. J to make six dozen of these pies, and sell them for $50 each.

Anne: It took him three hours to make this single pie.

Venus: Well, you asked for my advice, and there it is. I've given you several admirable options.

Anne: If I become a toadstool, can I really talk to trees? Because I read an article somewhere that said fungi form networks with deciduous plants, and ...

Venus: I am not going to turn you into a toadstool just so you can avoid planning and executing your daughter's wedding! She's a capable girl. Have faith in her. Write a check and show up in a decent dress. Let's go look at your wardrobe.

Anne: OH NO, LET'S NOT! Ah, the stress, the stress!

Venus: Chill, Anne. Write a check, wring your hands, and roast five wild boars on an altar to me.

Anne: And if I do that, You'll help me?

Venus: No, I won't help you. But you'll live. Does your daughter's betrothed have a mother?

Anne: Yes, but she lives in Georgia.

Venus: No matter! Get her to do everything. Dab your eyes, develop "the vapors," and write a check. I'll take the rest of this pie with me.

Anne: But ...

Venus: Mouse on the altar!

Anne: I'll get you a Tupperware container.